


just being here

by peakgay



Series: talents [1]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-17
Updated: 2015-10-17
Packaged: 2018-04-26 20:37:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5019598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peakgay/pseuds/peakgay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hamilton plays his role well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	just being here

**Author's Note:**

> again, i'm going to hell!!!! YAY. also written for a friend...also written for myself :/

He sits at the desk for most of the day, scrawling at parchment and staring at the wall. Despite his grievances, he respects the General – and beyond that, he wants to make him proud.

Still, the days are long and hot and drag on, even with stops to the tavern below the room he stays in, drinks slid across the counter, soldiers muttering to each other. Impatience lies heavy and thick in the air, and even Alexander Hamilton, in all his astuteness, fidgets as he drinks and considers what words are worth the ink and the space on paper.

Concentration fails him by the evening, after supper. He sits at the cold, hard desk, still very much alone, and his mind starts to wander to other things. A conversation. Washington’s laughter – his General’s laughter.

Mild and good-hearted.

Hamilton ponders.

“Marriage,” Washington had said, his voice slick and honey-sweet, “is a blessed thing.”

Hamilton laughed.

He didn’t love Eliza any less for it, but he understood that marriage was fickle. He would be away from her often, and letters only served some purposes. They didn’t fill the space in one’s bed.

Otherwise, perhaps he wouldn’t be in George Washington’s bedroom, pacing, glancing at the bed.

Is that how women feel? He stares at the bed, the pillows, the blankets.

He bites his lip, and remembers.

“You and Lady Washington,” he had said.

“She is the understanding sort,” Washington said, and then kissed him.

Hamilton recalls the open-mouthed memory quite fondly.

The words aren’t coming; not the ones he needs. So he strips, slowly, pulling off each piece of clothing as if it served some kind of purpose. He tugs at his hair, runs his fingers through it. The General does such a thing occasionally, if memory serves, and Hamilton licks his lips, closes his eyes, pretends for a moment, standing naked in front of the bed.

He crawls beneath the blankets, rests his head on a pillow. The candle burns, and burns, and he considers blowing it out but sleep isn’t coming, just restlessness.

Women, wives, who keep the beds warm.

Alexander squeezes his eyes shut.

Her voice, her eyes.

Spinning, spinning in a room full of laughing people.

When he opens his eyes, it’s because of the warm hand on the small of his back.

“It’s just me,” the voice murmurs, familiar, deep. Low. It stirs Hamilton awake, and he rolls over onto his back.

The General smiles at him in the wispy light of a near burnt-out candle. It’s dark outside.

“You left the candle burning and fell asleep in _my_ bed,” Washington hums, then leans down and presses his mouth to Hamilton’s. He reacts immediately, and his entire body seems to throb – he wants to grab and tug and pull and be enveloped, but the General gently shifts away and blows out the candle.

“I can’t see you,” Hamilton mumbles, sitting up and pressing his elbows into the pillow to steady himself. His eyes adjust to the dark, and shadows from outside cast themselves upon the famous General as he strips.

Hamilton licks his lips. He wants to avoid any and all unsanctioned thoughts, but they rear and pulse their way to his cock before he can bury them; Washington turns and smiles over his shoulder, chuckles. Hamilton looks away, automatically.

“Forgive me,” he mutters. “It was…a mistake to stay here.”

The bed sinks with the weight of another body and this – it’s what he’s been waiting for.

Touch.

It’s different, with him.

Bodies are better suited together, and with nothing separating them.

Hamilton pushes the blanket away, hooks a leg around the General’s hip, pulls him close. It’s a bold move, meant to ignite, and it works – Washington wraps fingers around Alexander’s wrist, pushes him back onto the bed, shifts on top of him.

Their bodies synchronize, Washington’s cock dragging over Hamilton’s with the sheets and blankets now pushed to the side. Hamilton rocks his hips, tries to earn the bits of friction he can, but Washington is relentless. He’s _powerful_ and it isn’t fair but it’s also…

It’s exactly what Alexander needs.

He closes his eyes, lets out a sigh, and Washington’s lips touch his throat. Their cocks meet again and the warmth of it sends Hamilton twitching and moaning, though quietly, keeping it down in his throat, he knows the General wants to keep things as secretive as possible.

They rut like that, careful – until Hamilton is begging.

“Fuck – come on, fuck me,” he mutters, scrapes his fingernails over Washington’s shoulder.

Washington laughs. “No, I need you at your best.” His thumb pushes on Alexander’s jaw, exposing his throat. He sucks a soft bruise down near his collarbone. Easily hidden beneath jackets and vests and shirts and anything else.

“Please,” he says, hopes begging will be enough tonight. Most nights it’s not. Most nights he spends kneeling, mouthing Washington’s cock until it’s hard and wet enough to make an easy entrance. But the General likes to keep Alexander on his knees, on days that are less busy, likes to keep his mouth occupied with shallow, uneven thrusts until Alexander’s jaw and throat aches and he’s begging just to have another hole fucked.

That’s when Washington obliges.

So it seems unlikely he’ll yield tonight, except perhaps in desperation – Hamilton will consider the night won if Washington’s cock eventually meets his lips.

“I’m at my best when I’m well-fucked,” Hamilton says, a moment too late for the words to come across as much of a response. Washington laughs, thrusts his hips so his cock slides across Hamilton’s again.

“You’re best when you’re doing what you’re told,” Washington murmurs, and with that he takes Hamilton’s wrist and uses the power of his upper body to flip him onto his stomach.

Hamilton curses, turning so the side of his face is pressed into the pillow. His heart thuds, excitement thrumming in his blood. He’s ready, shifting so his legs are spread, expecting a finger if not the blunt head of Washington’s cock.

The warmth is intoxicating and he groans, quiet but audible, but the tip of Washington’s cock slides past his entrance and upwards towards the small of his back.

He groans again, though this time in disappointment as his cock twitches against the bed.

“Sir, _please_.” It comes out a hoarse whisper, and the fingers wrapped around his wrists shift to tug on his hair. Washington thrusts his hips, and his cock slides, never buries itself inside but does enough that Hamilton is aching with it, wanting to reach between his legs and jerk at his own cock and get the satisfaction he needs but.

“No,” Washington says, low and hard and biting as he grabs Hamilton’s wrist, twists it so it’s above his head again. Hamilton buries his face into the pillow, biting into the dry fabric. It keeps him from thinking as his cock throbs, Washington’s thrusts picking up pace, faster and faster, soft grunts emitting from the General until they turn into breathless sighs, incoherent murmurings, then a final, sharp, “Yes,” and his come spilling on Hamilton’s back. Never once does he breech Hamilton, never once does he fuck him; but Hamilton is shaking with it, the need to reach release stronger than he’s ever remembered it, every part of him thrumming.

He’s turned over again, and he feels his back stick to the fabric but he can’t even muster the strength to care before the General’s hot, tight mouth wraps around his cock. It’s unexpected enough that he throws his head back, hips thrusting automatically, and Washington’s throat opens for it like it’s something he’s trained for.

Hamilton comes before he can make it known, before he can let out a resounding moan or warn him.

But Washington takes it, swallows and licks Hamilton’s cock clean and sits up, lies down beside him.

“That was…ruthless,” Hamilton whispers into the dark, staring at the ceiling. He swears he can see the stars outside, for all his blinking.

Washington laughs. “It’s your reward,” he murmurs, “for keeping my bed so warm.”

“Anything at all,” Hamilton says, turning over and curling up against Washington’s chest. “If it means this.”


End file.
